The Middle Name
by PorcelanaRota
Summary: It's been weeks since his son was born, and Vegeta finally goes to see the baby Bulma named Trunks. / / One-shot


**A/N**

 **I wrote this a** ** _long_** **time ago and never posted it, and I'm not sure why. But while going through my old phone, looking for things that were worth transferring to my new one, I found this one-shot. I fixed up every typo I saw, but otherwise, it's basically the stream of thought fic I made after browsing through some name generators, which is where the clan names come from. (I think - like I said, this was made a** ** _long_** **time ago.)**

 **Now, it has also been a long time since I've read or watched DBZ, even back when I first typed this up, so some stuff is probably wrong. The Saiyan culture, for instance - I have no clue if I made that up or if it's legit. Not to mention, Vegeta is kinda OOC, but most people tend to act differently when holding their baby, so *violently shrugs*. I guess it's up to you if he's OOC or not - though I think he is in the flashback sequence, as are Nappa and Raditz. But whatever, it's my fanfiction, and what I say goes, basically.**

 **I do not own DBZ. Obviously.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

xxXxx

He looked at the child before him, his countenance giving away nothing. He studied the weak little being, noting the lavender hair at the very top of the baby's head. It was a clear mixture of his own black hair and the woman's - Bulma's - blue hair.

The child's eyes were closed, sleeping peacefully. His little thumb was tucked inbetween his lips, and he wore light blue footie pajamas. He was still too young to sleep with a blanket or stuffed animal, so he was alone in the cradle.

The woman called the baby - his baby, her baby, their baby - Trunks.

Trunks Briefs. A weak name.

But the woman was adamant about it, and she had screamed with a raw throat that Trunks was a family name; that without her womb, the child wouldn't even be here to be named; that Vegeta could name their next child if he carried him or her; that Vegeta should have been there for the birth if he wanted a say in the name; and that he'd better wise up or she would remove his ability to have children with a rusty spoon. So Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans - all pathetic four of them, including himself - let her have this one win.

On one condition.

Humans had middle names, which was an obsolete and stupid concept to him. Saiyans weren't like that. Before his great-grandfather, Vegeta I, became king and united all on the planet under his command, the Saiyans were divided into clans. When a child was born into a clan, they were given a first name, and then they had the clan name as their surname. There was no need for anything else, no need for aesthetics on paper or on the tongue, as all they did was fight. At most, particularly strong warriors would earn a title name.

But, as Vegeta had long ago noticed, things were different on the backwater planet simply called Earth.

So, Vegeta got to choose Trunks's middle name. Unexpectedly, he found himself unable to decide on one.

It should be easy. The kid was a Saiyan of the Aningan Clan, _the Gods of the Moon_. A direct descendant of Vegeta I. The child of Vegeta III. Thus, his middle name should also be Vegeta.

And yet... it did not fit.

It drove Vegeta mad. It was simple! He was his son! So why couldn't he open his mouth and force the six letter word out?

The answer hit him no sooner than he thought the question.

 _Kakarot_.

Unbelievable.

The idiotic man in that horrendous orange gi who thought with his stomach instead of his brains was always the source of his frustration. He was a third class fighter, low bred, and didn't have the drive of a true Saiyan. But he was always, _always_ better.

The realization that he, Prince Vegeta, was feeling some kind of sentimentality to the failure of a Saiyan was enough to weaken his knees, but he didn't let it show.

Any emotion other than anger was dangerous. It always had been.

But here he was, standing over his lavender-haired son, thinking of naming the brat after the man who bettered him without trying.

He couldn't do that, however. Kakarot would let it go to that empty head of his, or even worse: he'd think that Vegeta was beginning to go soft.

Hn. Can't let that happen.

He tried to dredge up memories, memories that he long ago gave up trying to repress.

xxXxx

 _They each were in pain. Raditz was strewn on the cold ground a few feet away from him, a hand over his stomach. He was covering the area that Frieza had torn into with his bare hand, probably trying to keep in some important organ._

 _Nappa was not far from him. He'd been able to sit himself up against the stone wall. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was ragged. Broken ribs, surely. Maybe one punctured a lung. It was a good thing Saiyans were sturdy._

 _Nappa's head was a mess of burns. One of Frieza's scientists had created an acid that could easily burn through a Saiyan's skin in a few minutes. Nappa had been the test subject for it. He was probably lucky that he wasn't deemed replaceable or useless because otherwise, the acid would have been surely shoved down his throat._

 _They all knew that not even a rejuvenation tank would make his hair regrow. Nappa would be lucky if the scars healed._

 _Vegeta had also managed to lean up against a wall. Both his legs were broken. He was missing the tip of his tail. Frieza had said that the tail was too valuable to be completely rid of, before adding on a contemplative "for now."_

 _Frieza knew full well how offensive and insulting his action was, even if it was just the tip. Only traitors, cowards, or kin-slayers had part of or their entire tails removed, to show their criminal status. They were then shunned from society, and sometimes killed by someone looking to have a little fun. Having one's tail removed was seen as worse than death._

 _Frieza had dealt him the ultimate dishonor._

 _Nappa and Raditz knew it, too, and it was why they were both in here with him. They were going to let their Prince take his punishment on his own until Frieza had done the deed._

 _Frieza had laughed. Laughed in their faces before ripping out a chunk of Raditz's flesh and having Dodoria restrain Nappa long enough for the acid to be brought in as punishment for showing loyalty to someone that wasn't him._

 _It just never ended. The humiliation, he means. Frieza always had something._

 _Was this what brokenness felt like? He subtly ran his fingers over the bloodied tip of his tail. Only an inch was cut off, but still..._

 _He sighed, which was his equivalent of a shudder._

 _And then they began to do what they always did after Frieza lost his temper: they talked about home._

 _"I was born to the Clan Masaru. I had a daughter. Her name was Celeria, and she was beautiful," Nappa admitted, being the first to speak. His voice was raw, exhausted, and he never opened his eyes as he spoke._

 _Vegeta never knew he had a daughter._

 _"I was born to the Clan Rouki. I had a brother named Kakarot, born just a few days before the asteroid hit," Raditz said, solemn._

 _"I was born to Clan Aningan, and was son to King Vegeta II. I had a great people once."_

 _It was quiet, and then, "Still do."_

xxXxx

Rouki, or _Hope's son._ Now that figured. Vegeta couldn't help but snort. It was fitting that someone as dimwitted and filled with so much hope would be from that third-class clan.

Vegeta studied the brat once more, something inside him telling him that this was right.

Trunks Rouki Briefs. Stronger. Better. It had the filthy sentimentality that Vegeta cursed himself for feeling in there, and it was Saiyan.

Not to mention, Kakarot would never find out about it.

With the memory the name came from, Vegeta had the sudden epiphany as to why he wanted to do this, why Rouki was the perfect name.

Kakarot ascended into a Super Saiyan. He transformed into the amazing, did the impossible.

And in doing that, he defeated Frieza. The monster.

And his son would never have to worry about becoming an enslaved soldier to that monster.

There was another epiphany.

He cared about the pile of flesh in front of him.

 _Kami_ , now wasn't that a shock?

He'd never cared for something living much before. Yes, there was just under an ounce of care about Nappa and Raditz. But it was only there because not only were they the presumed last of their race, but because they'd gone through hell together, and going through hell together is certainly one decent way to create bonds.

Trunks was his flesh, his blood, and damn it if he wasn't his legacy. This little thing, this tiny little child was his child.

Suddenly, he was glad that Bulma wasn't in the room, because tears had blossomed in his unfeeling onyx eyes, and he didn't want the woman to see such a weak display.

He never thought he'd have a son. Never thought he'd live under Frieza's reign to have one. Kami, he had a _son_!

And Trunks would never have to go through the things he did. He'd never go days without food or water, never be tortured by anyone and be powerless to stop it. He'd never not know compassion, he'd never be beaten so badly that he wouldn't be able to move his head, much less walk, only to be left alive because you still had some minuscule amount of use to your ruler.

His son would never hear high pitched, condescending giggles, never hear, "Oh, how adorable! He's still trying!" He'd never be called a monkey, never be called worthless, dirty, useless, or a simple animal that needs euthanizing.

Trunks was never going to have to worry about Frieza. And it was all thanks to Kakarot.

Gratefulness hit him so hard, and he didn't know what to do. Vegeta had never truly cared about another person before, or at least not in a long time. So he did what he thought was right.

He picked up his son, which roused the kid from his slumber. His child's eyes found his own, and they blinked, bleary. Trunks made garbled, sleepy noises, removing his thumb from his mouth, and touched Vegeta's cheek.

"You won't have to worry about him," he mumbled, unused to showing any form of affection that wasn't sex. "He's gone, and you're named for the man who got rid of him. Someday, you'll be stronger than that man. I'll make sure of it myself. I will train you. I'll train you and you'll make our race proud."

 _"Foolish little monkey, there's nothing to be proud of,"_ sang the voice that would never leave him. For even in death, Frieza haunted him.

 _"Of course! It simply wouldn't do to let my favorite toy monkey be alone."_

Tears, unbidden, came back to his eyes.

Trunks would never have to worry about voices that no longer existed taunting him. He'll make sure of it by destroying those little androids, piece by piece.

He set his son back down, and the brat yawned before falling back asleep. He stared at the child again, but only briefly, before wiping away his tears and standing ramrod straight.

Then, he marched out of the room.

The woman was standing outside the door, her arms crossed.

"Well?" she demanded, full of exasperation, "Did you finally decide on a middle name?"

"Rouki," he told her in no uncertain tone, his voice gruff. Then he walked passed her.

All this emotion was making him sick. He'd better go beat it out of himself in the Gravity Room for a few hours.

He ignored Frieza's voice as he left the woman.  
 _  
"Aww, how sweet! You care for a little earthling girl, too! Let's list all the ways I could destroy her and your brat..."_


End file.
